


The Silent City of the Heart

by fongia



Series: A Life Well-Lived: A Collection of Marvel Works [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Christmas, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fongia/pseuds/fongia
Summary: ENDGAME SPOILERS WITHIN-It’s snowing outside—a white Christmas for a silent city.





	The Silent City of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> ENDGAME SPOILERS WITHIN  
> WARNING: SUICIDAL THOUGHTS  
> -
> 
> Goddess Generator, wise as she is fair, granted me a scene: It's dawn, there's snow falling, and you're in the heart of a neglected city. 
> 
> Slight canon divergence/speculation.

_ New York City—December 25, 2019 _

 

It’s the first Christmas that Tony observes in a long time. 

 

Observing is too strong a word. Tony is entirely present this year: no alcohol, no week-long workshop marathons, no Iron-Man-level issues. 

 

He hasn’t celebrated it in years. There were no exceptions, not for Rhodey, not for Pepper, not for the Avengers. Sure, he has gifts shipped out, he sends e-cards with funny animations to Pepper with inappropriate messages, but he has an unsaid rule about Christmas, and so far, no one asked him about it. Not that he would have answered.

 

It’s something about the happy family opening presents with megawatt smiles and tastefully coordinated ugly sweaters that leaves a sour taste in mouth. It twists his stomach, makes that wicked heat curl low and hot in his belly, but he swallows it down and forges through whatever distractions he planned for the month of December. 

 

Before, he would have lost himself until it was January and he missed the new year. 

 

But it’s snowing outside—a white Christmas for a silent city. 

And so, Tony makes his way to the landing pad, shrugs on a coat and walks outside with slippers on. The light snow crunches beneath his feet and soaks through the thin fabric, but Tony keeps walking. His coat isn’t buttoned, hanging haphazardly off a shoulder. The sting of winter air bites at his exposed skin, needles at his feet until they go numb.

 

Tony tilts his head backwards and lets the snow strike his face. 

 

The Tower was built to be a landmark. The shining example of clean, sustainable energy, the pride of NYC, the herald of the future. It shines as brightly as it always has, a beacon to the entire city. Tony was proud of it once.

 

But now, it’s too much. It’s ostentatious. It’s luxurious, it’s obscene. Half the universe, gone in an instant, and here he stands in comfort while the other half burns. 

 

He can’t bring himself to reach out to the others. He probably couldn’t, not as scattered as they are. He didn’t stay long after his outburst, but he keeps tabs on his team, even if they couldn’t stand him. Tony keeps an eye on them because it’s all he can bring himself to do.

 

Tony, Iron Man, Merchant of Death. Living, breathing, while trillions never got a chance. 

 

Tony stays outside until FRIDAY overrides her silence and orders him inside.

 

What’s another dead in a universe of dust and ash? But he walks inside and peels off his slippers, lets his coat lie on the floor and collapses onto a couch. He burrows under a blanket, covers up until only his eyes peek through.

 

It’s his first Christmas in a long time, and he celebrates alone. The universe aches for its other half, billions float on the wind, and the Avengers are scattered everywhere because even if the world ended with Thanos, life is stubborn as hell and continues to live.

 

Tony just can’t bring himself to. He can’t face the others. He can’t face Steve. 

 

He can’t go into his workshop. What would he build? What could he do that would help at all?

 

He can’t leave his Tower, his prison, his self-imposed exile. This is his punishment: to rot away in grandeur, cold, bitter and alone. 

 

It’s the morning of December 25th, New York City is covered with snow, and Tony’s defective heart continues to beat even if he wishes it would stop. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, Tony.


End file.
